With both of them pressing him, staring at him with bits of ice clinging to the edges of their clothing, downtrodden faces and pleading eyes, Caleb found it harder to hold firm.
“I made a decision and to go back on that now would be—”
“Would be helping your friends when they need you the most,” Jonathan said.
“You’ve hardly spoken to me since I left!” Caleb said and quickly looked toward the stairs. He lowered his voice, hoping he hadn’t woken any of the children up. “I’ve been the black sheep, the odd man out since the minute I told you I was leaving.”
Jonathan rocked back. “I know I was unfair. I’m sorry. It felt like you were abandoning us. You have to understand, I’m just trying to make this business the best that it can be. Make our lives the best that it can be under the circumstances.”
“What about my life here? This place, this farm is my business. I’m trying to do the same, you know. I know I can make it successful, but if I come back, I won’t have time to get ready for spring.”
“We’ll help you,” Jonathan said, looking up. “We’ll come over every Sunday and help you with anything you need. You’ll be ready for spring, I promise.”
Aryl smacked his arm with the back of his hand. “Thanks for volunteering me,” he said, frowning.
“Do you want Caleb back or not?” Jonathan asked.
“Yes, but that’s my only day off. I hardly see Claire and Jac as it is.”
“We all have to do uncomfortable things if we’re going to make it to the other side of this thing.”
“This thing,” Caleb said in disbelief. He slumped down in his seat and covered his face with his hands. “Jon, this thing isn’t going to go away. This is how it is now. You act like if we just keep working ourselves into the ground, run faster, run harder, that we’ll escape it.” He uncovered his face and looked at Jonathan. “Have you read the paper lately?”
“Yes, of course.”
“New York’s Bank of the United States just failed. They’re saying it’s the largest in history. Bigger than anything that fell apart in twenty-nine.”
“Yes, I know,” Jonathan said.
“There’s another wave of people just like us who woke up in comfortable beds in the morning and are trying to put together the pieces by nightfall. Prices are falling, banks are failing. Every time we think it’s getting better—”
“Things are taking a bad turn again. I realize this. We aren’t getting as much for lobster and fish. You won’t get as much for hogs and grain. Businesses are closing, bread lines are longer, I know.”
“Then you should also know that there is no escaping it. That’s the reality. This thing has us and it’s not letting go. All we can do is hold on.”
“Which is exactly what I’m trying to do, Caleb!”
“No,” Caleb shook his head. “You’re trying to get ahead.”
Jonathan glared. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. A crime or something.”
“It’s unrealistic. I’m worried that you are chasing your own tail. The numbers in your head do not match up with the numbers in reality. You’re going to kill yourself trying to achieve the impossible right now.”
Jonathan brushed at the stubble on his chin, sat back and crossed his arms. “I don’t know how to do anything else.”
After a long tense moment Aryl spoke up. “Would you rather he just give up and climb into a bathtub?” His voice was low, his eyes hard.
“Jesus.” Caleb shoved a hand through his hair, shifting uncomfortably. “No, of course not.”
“Then stop telling him to quit trying.” Aryl sat back and glared. “I’m tired. I want to go home. Are you back with us or not?” he asked, shoving his chair back.
Caleb looked at each of them and then away. “If you guys will help me on Sundays, I’ll come back,” he said. “But only until you find someone else as fast as you can.”
“I’ll keep looking, I promise,” Jonathan said.
It was quiet, the air felt thick around them. It didn’t feel like a happy reunion of friends about to work together again. To Caleb, it felt like a sentence.
“I guess I’ll see you guys in the morning,” Caleb said, staring at the cold coffee in his mug.
“We appreciate it, Caleb,” Jonathan said sincerely as he stood. Caleb gave a hard nod and let them see themselves out. His shoulders dropped with a deep breath as he slumped in the chair.
***
Aryl walked in the front door and his mood hadn’t much improved. What Claire told him when he sat down on the sofa didn’t help.
“Aryl, darling,” she said, sitting close to him.
“Oh, no.”
“What?”
“You never use darling unless you’re preparing me for something.”
She flashed a tight smile. “Would you like to warm up with some coffee first?” she asked.
“It’s too late for coffee. Just tell me,” he said, stretching his arms out with a yawn.
“I heard from my parents today,” she said, slow and leading.
“Oh? How are they?”
“They’re well.”
“So what’s the big news?” he asked, rolling his head to look at her.
She clasped her hands. Claire was never any good at pretending. So when she put on a bright excited face, he could read the dread behind the mask.
“They’re coming for a visit,” she said, biting her lip.
He rolled his head back, stared at the ceiling and groaned.
“When? Do we have time to move?” he asked, not at all joking.
She scooted closer. “They want to come for New Year’s.”
“New Year’s! How about a little warning? That’s not even two weeks away.”
“It’s just for a few days, Aryl. We’ll survive. They have never seen Jac and are so happy you’re…better,” she said delicately.
“I know your parents, Claire.”
Glancing around the living room, he sighed and closed his eyes. “All I’m going to hear from them is how I’m not providing well enough for you.”
“They understand that what happened wasn’t your fault.”
“I highly doubt that. They were one of the few to escape with most of their money. They say they understand, but they really don’t. At the very least, they’ll wonder why I haven’t fixed everything by now.”
“You don’t know how they are going to act, Aryl. Besides, there’s plenty to be proud of. You are the owner of your own fishing company,” she said, sitting taller.
He rolled his head over again, expressionless.
“Well, you are,” she said, losing some of her enthusiasm.
He could have argued with her. He owned three boats that, even with Jonathan’s help, he couldn’t keep fully manned. As it was now, fishing kept them alive and not much more. Where was the pride in that?
He grumbled and groaned under his breath.
“Oh, cheer up, Aryl. Christmas is just a few days away.”
The small Christmas tree in the corner was decorated nicely, but not much else adorned the rooms. Without that small tree, no one would even know what season it was. He wondered why Claire hadn’t done more, but then, he likely knew the reason. Not a lot of money and a bit of the seasonal blues had her doing the bare minimum this year and no doubt that was likely only for Jac’s sake.
“Did Caleb say he’d come back?” Claire asked, pulling both his arms around her and his mind from his thoughts.
“Yes, temporarily. We’ll see how long it lasts.”
“You think it won’t?”
“I think there is something brewing between Jon and Caleb.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know.” He thought for a moment, pulling Claire’s head down to rest on his shoulder. “Frankly, I think Jon is jealous.”
“How on earth is he jealous?”
“Because Caleb has a way out. And, if you think about it, he really is better off than all of us with land and animals.”
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“I suppose,” Claire said in a way that made Aryl think that she didn’t want to think about that too much. Envy was an ugly emotion that she probably didn’t want to venture close to.
Aryl realized that it was too late for him. He was, in fact, envious of Caleb’s position. While he may not want to face it, it was true. Caleb had his farm, a good running truck and produced most of his own food. The wood stove in the kitchen and the wooded acres along the edge of his property kept his heating expenses next to nothing.
The home Jonathan inherited was paid for and all he need do was worry about taxes every year. He also had a vehicle, though not the most dependable thing in Rockport, it got him around.
And then there was Aryl and Ian. Both paid rent for homes that often took up over half of their monthly incomes. Neither had a vehicle. Neither could afford one after heating and eating.
So, as Aryl sat sizing his situation up against that of his friends, he began to dread his in-law’s visit even more. And he wondered if it was really Jonathan, or himself that was envious of Caleb’s situation. He may be the owner of a fishing business, but he was grinding harder than either of his friends.
“I’m tired,” he said softly, squeezing Claire’s shoulder. “Let’s go to bed.”
Episode Six
“A Gut Feeling”
CHRISTMAS DAY HAS A UNIQUE FEEL TO IT. IT’S NOT A FEELING YOU CAN NAME, SPECIFICALLY, LIKE LOVE OR FEAR. IT’S A UNIQUE EMOTION BROUGHT ABOUT BY THE COMBINATION OF THE SMELLS OF FAVORITE FOODS AND THE SIGHT OF CANDLES BURNING BRIGHTLY IN WINDOWS, THE SCENT OF PINE FROM HOMEMADE GARLAND STRETCHING ABOVE THE DOORS AND WINDOWS, DOTTED WITH SPRIGS OF HOLLY AND SMALL PACKAGES WRAPPED IN BROWN PAPER AND TWINE.
IT’S A CULMINATION OF WEEKS OF WORRY, EXCITEMENT, HOPING AND PLANNING, WAITING FOR LOVED ONES TO OPEN A GIFT, NO MATTER HOW SMALL, HOPING THAT THEY WILL CHERISH IT. THOSE WITHOUT GIFTS GIVE GENEROUSLY THEIR LOVE AND OF THEMSELVES. OFTEN, THOSE ARE THE GIFTS WE REMEMBER LONG AFTER THE SEASON. WITH THE GATHERING OF FAMILY AND FRIENDS, WARM DRINKS AND HEARTY LAUGHS, CHRISTMAS DAY BRINGS A FEELING THAT IS PALPABLE THAT DAY ALONE.
IT’S A WONDERFUL, PECULIAR AND NAMELESS FEELING. PROBLEMS ARE PUT ON HOLD, WORRIES ARE PUSHED TO THE BACK OF THE MIND AND INSTEAD OF FOCUSING ON REGRETS OF THE PAST, OR FEAR OF THE FUTURE, WE SEE WHAT WE HAVE AND ARE THANKFUL. GRATITUDE OVERFLOWS, GENEROSITY IS AMPLIFIED AND SPIRITS ARE RAISED. BUT, AS THE DAY WINDS DOWN, THE FRIENDS DISPERSE AND WHAT FOOD REMAINS IS PUT AWAY, THAT FEELING STARTS TO FADE. AND BY MORNING, YOU CAN FEEL THAT CHRISTMAS IS GONE. WE BEGIN TO LOOK TOWARD THE NEW YEAR WITH FEELINGS THAT DO HAVE NAMES. THERE IS HOPE THAT MINGLES WITH CONCERN, BUT MOST OF ALL, DETERMINATION. IT IS WITH THE DETERMINATION TO PRESS ON THAT WE WELCOME 1932.
FROM THE ROCKPORT REVIEW TO ALL OF YOU, HAPPY NEW YEAR.
“Very nicely put, Muzzy,” Aryl whispered as he lay down the newspaper.
Before dawn on a cold, drizzly Monday, Aryl was waking up with the paper and a hot cup of coffee. Claire was already busy at work while Jac, thankfully, remained asleep.
“What was that?” Claire asked, standing on a chair to arrange a length of embellished garland over the archway between the living room and kitchen.
“Nothing,” he said as he turned and looked at her. “I’ve never seen someone decorate the house for Christmas after Christmas.”
“Aryl, you know why I’m doing this,” she said in a huff, stretching to adjust a few sprigs of holly that had fallen out of place.
Of course he knew exactly why she was doing this. Her parents would be here in a matter of days and she’d been completely frantic since receiving their letter. It was why she had trudged to Arianna’s nearly every day for fresh pine, holly and help. With Arianna’s instruction, she was up late every night to create beautiful centerpieces, garland and swatches to put, well, everywhere.
The smell of pine was nearly overpowering. She’d even made Aryl go out and cut down a larger tree the day after Christmas and replace the smaller one that had begun drying out. She went to Ava’s house to borrow her ornaments and decorations; Arianna’s to borrow Ethel’s silver, glasses and linens and even went to Maura’s to borrow a few oil lamps, an area rug and a few extra chairs.
Stepping down from the chair, Claire wiped her hands of sap.
The bookshelf next to the doorway was chock full of classic books Claire had dragged home from the library, enlisting her friends to check some out when the librarian became slightly suspicious at the sheer volume of books Claire was walking out the door with on a daily basis.
“I don’t think your parents are coming here expecting the house to be fully decorated.”
“Growing up we left the decorations up until after the new year. If I don’t have anything out they’ll think there wasn’t anything to begin with.”
“God forbid,” Aryl whispered and sipped his coffee. There very nearly wasn’t. They managed to buy two small wooden cars for Jac, one of which he broke before the sun had set, and clothes, all handmade or second hand. Aryl gave Claire a new canvas and paintbrush; she gave him a sweater, new wool socks and an extended kiss under the mistletoe.
Dinner at Jonathan’s finished the day, and they went to sleep knowing that it had gone as well as they could have hoped for and now they could get back to the grind of life.
Well, his friends could. Aryl had a bit more to get through before this holiday season could be called done.
The looming visit from his in-laws had dominated every minute of every day. If it was just their judgment of him, he could deal well enough with that. He’d already sought out pep talks from Jonathan and even Caleb. Right now he desperately needed to tap into Jonathan’s no nonsense approach to life and Caleb’s happy-go-lucky attitude.
But it wasn’t just that. It was dealing with the changes in Claire that made matters worse. She had already begun to change back into the unsure, reserved, ultra proper woman that she morphed into when around her parents.
He was sure he wouldn’t hear her slip a curse for the next three weeks at least. The habits she hated—would prefer to live without, tended to linger after being under their scrutinous glare.
He’d spent so many years trying to free her from that. But there she went. Holding her hands out when she walked, crossing her legs every time she sat down. She sat straighter, sipped her tea more slowly; even her speech was growing more proper. He understood why.
She grew up with money and her parents were hard nosed, stiff lipped and judgmental. When he’d asked Claire to marry him, proving his love wasn’t enough for her parents. He had to prove his bank account, too. That was what mattered at the end of the day to them. Claire knew it, which was why she was exhausting herself with cleaning and decorating, using borrowed things from as many places as she could in order to impress them.
Aryl glanced around the small rental. There was nothing here that would impress those people, no matter how hard his wife worked.
Claire grunted, trying to take a large painting down off the wall above the fireplace.
“What are you doing?” Aryl asked, moving quickly to help her before she dropped it.
“Taking this down.”
“Why? It’s your favorite one. It’s my favorite one.”
“I thought I’d replace it with a large wreath.” She avoided his eyes.
“You’re taking it down because your parents don’t approve of your painting,” he said. Oh, he knew her well. He’d heard her parents with his own ears, belittling her talent as a complete waste of time.
“No,” she said, dragging out the word. She still hadn’t looked him in the eyes. “I really think that a wreath would go nicely here. A great big one with red bows and pinecones.”
He took the painting from her hands and lifted it back onto the nail.
“Why don’t you put the wreath below it, at the edge of the mantle?”
She reached for the painting. “Because it could catch on fire. It’s better to have it up high.”
The painting tilted on
the nail and Aryl steadied it.
“I’d like this to stay up,” he said, keeping his hand firmly on the canvas.
She huffed, crossed her arms and swayed to the right.
“Claire, look at me.”
It took a few seconds, but she finally did.
“This is our house. This is your art. I don’t give a damn if they don’t like your painting. It’s staying up.”
She walked away rather than argue.
“You can have this house exploding with greenery for all I care. But nothing that you have touched with paint is going to be put away.”
***
Muzzy unlocked the door to her office as the sun was creeping over the horizon. After doing her morning deliveries she was cold through and through. She was used to it, but still, she’d be glad when spring arrived and made her pre-dawn duties a little more pleasant.
Looking down she saw a manila envelope with her name on it. Harold’s articles for the week. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Good old Harold, she thought. She swiped it off the ground and beneath it was another envelope. She picked it up as well, assumed it was a question for Hettie Helps and tossed them both on her desk. In the back room, she dumped the grounds from the percolator and set up a fresh pot on a small electric stove set off in the corner. She dreamed in the future that there would be some amazing machine that would produce coffee instantly, with the push of a button.
“Wouldn’t that be nice,” she said dreamily.
She tapped her foot, waiting, thinking over the day ahead. She had an interview with an older woman whose house was robbed the day before Christmas. She had tons of copy to edit, the big boy newspapers to look over, choose articles, verify facts and rewrite fresh, and she had to run to Boston on her motorbike to pick up more ink. She’d shaved a bit off the cost by picking it up herself instead of having it delivered. She didn’t look forward to that cold ride, but it couldn’t be helped.
She thought of Peter and his strange behavior and hadn’t given up on finding out what was behind it. She sighed. There wasn’t time to worry about that right now. But eventually, she’d get to the bottom of it.
Purling Road - The Complete First Season: Episodes 1-10 Page 14